


Trying it On

by Aksannyi



Category: NCIS
Genre: Banter, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 20:23:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11192745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aksannyi/pseuds/Aksannyi
Summary: Tony catches Ziva doodling something he really didn't expect. Oneshot ficlet, Tiva.





	Trying it On

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet is an outtake from Initials, which I wrote back in 2013. I ended up changing the trajectory of that one but decided to salvage what I had for a later fic. Four years later and I'm not sure that I like it that much but I'm sure there will be people who enjoy it so... here.
> 
> Really doesn't fit in with current canon nor would I consider it to belong anywhere in Season 10... maybe Season 8? Season 9? No idea, use your imagination.

“Are you almost finished with your report? We could grab something to eat,” Tony offered. He and Ziva were the only people left in the building at this late hour. His stomach had been rumbling his hunger for the better part of an hour, and he wondered if Ziva would be interested in going for a quick bite at the bar down the street. Ziva looked up to see that Tony had finished already and that he sat perched on the edge of his desk, watching her intently.

She’d been working, truthfully, but her mind had drifted off while working on this last witness statement. The witness had recently been married, and she had made it a point to emphasize that her name was Mrs. Francesca Gomez-Lipinsky at every occasion, which had caused Ziva an unusually high amount of annoyance. Especially since she’d had to write “Mrs. Gomez-Lipinsky” several times within the body of her case report.

Why women went through the process of lengthening their name after marriage was beyond her. Ziva wasn’t opposed to the idea of a woman taking her husband’s last name, if she wanted, but the whole hyphenation thing seemed ridiculous and cumbersome, and it wasn’t like her husband was changing or hyphenating _his_ name. And then to get all offended at the very notion that someone might call you by only _one_ of those names? Ridiculous.

Out of curiosity, she used the search feature on her computer to see just how many times she’d typed that name in this document alone, and found that she had been tasked with putting that woman’s full name on her report seventeen times. No wonder her eyes were beginning to cross. Food sounded absolutely heavenly.

She hadn’t even noticed she’d begun to doodle until Tony got her attention again, clearing his throat to draw her out of her reverie. Shaking her head slightly to release the thoughts from her brain, she shoved the small paper on which she’d begun scribbling random words off to the side, instantly forgetting about it.

“I’m almost done,” she replied, glancing back to where she’d left off. “Actually…” she paused. “I don’t need to finish this tonight, Tony. I am tired of looking at this thing and now that you mention it, I’m starving.”

“Now you’re speaking my language,” he replied, reaching over the back of his chair to grab the jacket he’d worn to work that morning. “You want to go to that new bar? I hear they have some killer chicken wings.”

“Greasy bar food is right up my alley,” she said, stifling a groan at the mere thought. Wings sounded like absolute heaven on earth, but then again, pretty much anything would have sounded inviting at this hour.

Tony shut down his computer and grabbed his bag, then walked back to Ziva’s desk to wait for her to finish shutting down for the evening. That's when he saw it, so small that he was sure she thought he wouldn't notice. A piece of scrap paper on which she’d been doodling, something he’d noticed she would do while lost deep in thought. On that sheet of paper, she had been writing her name, but not just her name. She’d written _“Ziva David-DiNozzo,”_ which she had crossed out, and just below that, _“Ziva DiNozzo”_ scrawled in her hand with a flourish and circled rather definitively, as though she were making a decision and then practicing her new signature.

He reached across and tapped the paper with his finger, his eyebrows raised and head cocked to the side. She answered his unspoken question with a shrug as she slid past him on the way to the elevator, leaving the piece of paper on her desk. He couldn’t believe how nonchalant she was being about the entire thing. _Since when was_ Ziva _practically writing my name with little hearts around it?_ he wondered.

“Just trying it on?” he asked, following her to the elevator as she shrugged her jacket over her shoulders.

She went along with his analogy, a glint in her eyes as she picked up the bait. If he was going to tease her about this, then she was going to give it right back to him. “Yes. I like it. I think it fits well, don't you think?”

He chuckled nervously. It had been a while since she'd gotten under his skin and unnerved him so easily. “It actually does,” he replied, wanting to know where this would go. He became briefly lost in thought before adding, “are you going to take it?”

“Are we still talking metaphorically or did you just ask me to marry you?”

“Do I look like I'm asking you to marry me? Without getting down on one knee and offering a ring? Give me some credit, will ya?” He deflected the question jokingly. Ziva saw through him, but she didn't press the issue because it was just too much to really go there, and they rode to the ground floor in silence. How quickly a bit of teasing had veered into the category of “too much.”

The silence continued as they walked to their cars. Tony was just about to get into his car when he stopped short, turning around to face his partner before she could get into her own car and drive off. He leaned against the open door of his car.   
  
“Would you have said ‘yes’ if I was?” He asked, finding himself unable to let the conversation go.   
  
“What? We are not even dating, Tony,” she responded, and she knew that she was deflecting, just as he had earlier. But that was a subject that would be difficult for either of them to speak on, because they'd been so close so many times without actually going there. Sure, there had been sex, but that had just been sex, and it had been a lifetime ago.   
  
“Why not?” He asked, slamming his door and walking to where she stood.

“Why are we not dating?”

“Sure, we can go with that,” he responded, not sure where this entire conversation was even headed. Perhaps they could start by treating this trip to that new bar as a date.

“I was just annoyed by that witness and her ridiculous insistence that everyone call her Mrs. Gomez-Lipinsky like hyphenating one’s last name isn’t the most pretentious…” she trailed off, realizing that she was ranting, and she wasn’t even answering his question.

When he didn’t respond right away, giving her the space she needed to process what she had been about to say, she continued, deflating slightly. “And then I started to think about what my name might look like if it were hyphenated, and you were right there in front of me, Tony. Do not read too much into it.”

“I think it says a lot more than you’re willing to admit right now,” was all he said, and she silently agreed with him. But Tony had never been one to simply let things go, and so she met him head-on, and faced the fact that she’d been caught doodling, embarrassingly so.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” he responded, and that somehow made her feel more at ease, that he was not able to adequately respond to her in this moment, either. Had they really just joked about marriage and dating in this small space of time, when neither of them were comfortable so much as admitting that whatever feelings they had for each other were real?

“Still want to go to the bar with me?” he finally asked, and she met his gaze, noting that he seemed hopeful, like he was really asking her out.

“I don’t know, Tony,” she breathed, stuffing her hands into her pockets and leaning back on her heels. “Is it a date?”

“It can be,” was all he said, and she wanted to kick him for his evasiveness. How dare he leave the entire decision up to her, like he had no stock in how things developed either way.

“It can be,” she echoed, and they left it at that. The bar wasn’t too far, so they decided to walk, sensing that the cool evening air might do them some good. It was all fun and games when it came to joking about this thing between them, but whenever it got serious, they suddenly couldn’t talk about it anymore, and it was perhaps one of the most infuriating things about their relationship. It was obvious that they both had feelings for each other, and she _knew_ that he could sense that, too, so it was ridiculous that they had so much trouble broaching the subject. They’d seen each other naked, for god’s sake, touched each other’s most intimate parts, but when it came to anything more than that, they both withdrew.

“I want it to be,” he said softly, as if he’d overheard her private thoughts, her private wish that he would recognize this for what they were and finally do something about it – never mind her own hypocrisy. She turned her head up, noting the snowflakes that were starting to land in his hair and smiled, reaching for his arm and looping her own through it.

“Me too,” she replied, and they walked briskly through the cold evening air on their way to what would hopefully be something worth trying on – and keeping.   


End file.
